


Life and Love

by Liquidation



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Frankenstein AU, Horror, M/M, Mentions of Major Character Death, Undead, ah your leg it’s caught in a bear trap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-17
Updated: 2018-08-17
Packaged: 2019-06-28 13:22:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15708090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liquidation/pseuds/Liquidation
Summary: From the day he was born, he had always been alone. It seemed that even Heaven turned its back on him in his darkest hour, but all of that changed the night he met a dark-eyed stranger who called him by another man’s name. Yuuri was everything he could ever dare to dream of and more. Yuuri who didn’t recoil at his touch or gaze upon him in fear. Sweet, beautiful Yuuri.But if given the chance at revenge…Would you take it?





	Life and Love

The night sky burned, illuminated by the villagers’ torches as they stalked him like starving wolves in the dead of winter. The fire made the snow and sky bleed red as if to signify the day of reckoning. _His_ day of reckoning. The end of his short existence and it was only a matter of time before he would be hunted down like a dog. As he fled, he prayed for a god to save him, but if there was a god above, he too had turned away from him in disgust. Not even the moon or the stars in all their beauty would grace him with their light in his final moments. Like the entirety of his existence, he was utterly alone in his despair. Hopefully, he could outlast them in this severe weather and quietly disappear like a shadow in the night. With all the hatred he constantly faced, he was becoming very good at that. He had to be to survive.

_But is surviving truly living?_

He ducked under skeletal trees, tripped over snow drifts, and was unable to avoid getting scraped or caught in spindly branches that snagged his skin and clothes. He tumbled once more where the snow was far deeper than he anticipated, but he could finally see the end of the woods. If he could push himself just a bit more, there was a cave he could take shelter in nearly half a mile away. With this storm, he figured the villagers wouldn't even get that far, choosing to save their own lives over ending his.

Before he could go any further towards his freedom though, he felt something sharp sink into the flesh of his ankle. He let out an agonal scream and collapsed from the pain, the ice and snow like knives against his skin. Between ragged breaths, he unearthed the source and found a bear trap with silver teeth glinting menacingly back at him, chaining him to a nearby tree. He couldn't contain the sob that escaped his lips as he desperately tried to pry the jaws open without success. Over his labored breathing, he could hear the roar of the villagers descending upon him. It wouldn't be long before they found him trapped and defenseless for them to do away with him for good. How would they do it? Hang him? Burn him alive? Leave him to the real wolves that prowled the forest? He became sick at the direction his dark thoughts had turned.

_This is how I die. Alone in the middle of the woods, hated and damned by everyone I've ever met._

The sob that wracked his body was not one of pain this time, but of anguish, and he dared to let his tears fall freely though they would garner no sympathy or mercy. In his turmoil, he failed to notice a figure approaching until the glare of their lantern burned his eyes. They both let out a startled gasp. He blinked rapidly, trying to get his eyes to adjust to the light. If he were to die, he didn’t want to die blindly. As soon as his eyes focused, however, he found himself utterly transfixed. Perhaps he wasn't a stranger, but an angel here to guide him after his death. The man’s face was petite and soft and his lips were rosy and dipped in a lovely Cupid's bow, but what awed him the most was the beautiful depths of his brown eyes as the angel stared back at him in shock.

He was self conscious then, knowing well enough that he was a monster made flesh, unworthy and glaringly different from this ethereal creature. He wasn’t naive. He was horrifically maimed with crude black stitching all across his face, torso, and limbs holding his deathly pale and mangled flesh together. The patches of greasy, silver hair that clung to his scalp did little to hide the balding spots where hair had long ago fallen out, and his blue tinted lips and sunken face only added to the ghastly sight. Against the glare of the dying lantern, he realized he must have looked like a corpse that clawed its way out of an icy grave. He expected the stranger to scream or curse him but none came. Rather, the young man seemed just as entranced as he, but perhaps in a different way. The man was an open book and he watched a flurry of emotions dance across his face. Fear, recognition, horror, worry, and finally, distress. The man reached out tentatively as if to wipe his tears and he readily accepted the touch. He would welcome death if this unattainable beauty was the last thing he saw. He supposed it would be as good a death as any, if only to not be spurned by at least one person.

Warm fingertips ghosted over the slope of his cheek and lightly brushed away his greasy fringe, almost, dare he dream, in a loving manner. It was only when the stranger looked into his eyes did his breath hitch and his touch falter. He forced himself to look away from the beautiful man then. His eyes were absolutely ghastly. Not even the brilliant blue of his eyes were spared any beauty as a sickly yellow sclera surrounded them like a poison. He thought the man would surely run now to leave him for dead, but instead, he surprised him when he pressed both of his hands firmly against the planes of his face and brought him so close that he could feel the stranger’s warm breath on his skin. He was sure the other man could hear his heart as it beat wildly against his chest.

“Victor?” the man breathed in both reverence and horror as he traced every one of his features with his eyes. An unfamiliar warmth bloomed in his chest at the feeling of the man’s awed gaze, making him forget the ice seeping through his thin clothes. The man looked at him like no one else had before. It wasn’t disgust, fear, or contempt in his eyes. Rather, he looked at him as if he alone hung the moon from the sky, and yet, his eyes glistened in such heartwrenching anguish as his fingers delicately traced the stitches on his face. “What have they done to you?”

The man’s attention faltered, however, at the roar of the mob. It was then that he pulled back his cloak to reveal an iron poker at his hip. Fear gripped his heart again as doubt seeped into his core. Perhaps he misread the situation. Perhaps this angel wasn't here to comfort or guide him, but to end him. He flinched as the raven haired man raised the sharp prod with a new sense of grim determination. He let out an involuntary shout as the makeshift weapon descended upon him, but he did not feel the blow. He opened his eyes to find the poker jammed into the jaws of the trap instead. The stranger groaned as his muscles strained to pry the trap open, and slowly, he had just enough room to slip his foot out of its clutches. The trap slammed shut as the young man abandoned the poker to kneel beside him, checking him over in frantic worry. He acted fast, shedding his cloak and shawl with great haste. The first, to his surprise, the man wrapped around his shoulders. The residual body heat radiated and warmed his core in a way he never felt before. The lighter shawl the man wrapped tightly around his bleeding appendage before throwing him off guard and pulling their bodies flushed against one another side by side. It had been the most physical contact he ever had with another human and he nearly shed more tears at the stirring feeling in his chest that threatened to spill over.

“My cottage isn’t far from here, but we may be too slow if I carry you. Do you think you can walk with my help, Vitya?” his savior asked, his brown eyes boring into his blue unflinchingly.

_Vitya… why is that so familiar?_

He managed a shaky nod, once more rendered baffled, speechless, and bewitched by the man before him. Together, they disappeared into the night, the falling snow covering up their tracks from those who would do them harm.

True to the man’s word, they stumbled into a warm cottage, alarming the brown poodle sleeping on the loveseat by the fire. He couldn’t help but notice as the dog immediately perked up, barking happily as it bounded towards them - towards him.

The raven-haired man batted her down but smiled sadly all the while. “Makkachin I know, but now isn’t the time. I have to get him somewhere safe girl.”

“Where are we going?” he rasped through underused vocal cords, causing the man to give him a startled look.

“You can speak then? Oh never mind, let’s get you to the bedroom and get you warmed up. I’d put you by the fire but I’m afraid the villagers will find us.” He involuntarily flinched and looked back to the door, but was pulled back from his fear as the man turned his face back to him. “Hey, it’s alright. I won’t ever let them get you.”

After everything that the man had said and done, he couldn’t even properly form words let alone think straight so he silently nodded and let the man guide him through the cottage to a lamp lit bedroom. Before he could protest, the beauty sat him down on the bed and quickly retrieved a plush red robe from the wardrobe.

“You need to get out of those clothes and put something dry on or else I might lose you to hypothermia. Can… do you need help?”

“No, no I… I can manage, um… are you sure I can wear this?” he asked tentatively, still unsure how to approach this entirely new situation. He feared that any sudden move or wrong word would scare him off and he would be all alone again at the cruel world’s mercy.

The mysterious man that called him another’s name gave him that same sad smile. “Well it’s no use to me. It isn’t mine after all.”

“Then thank you. Really, thank you. Do you… mind?” His cheeks burned in shame as he said it. He didn’t want this man seeing anymore of his disfigured body than he needed to.

He seemed to want to protest, but bit his tongue and nodded. “If you need any help, just call. I’ll be in the next room over. I want to properly look at that wound once you’re done.”

He did that thing again, reaching out to move his hair from his eyes and giving him a sad but encouraging smile before leaving. Once alone, his fingers dug into the soft, rich material of the robe and he frowned in thought. Was this some kind of trick? A mirage manifested by a cold-induced fever? Perhaps he really was dead and had ascended beside this angel. No one had shown him kindness before and he wasn’t sure how to react, to reciprocate.

‘ _No_ ,’ he thought with a bitter smile as he slipped on the robe that oddly fit like a glove, ‘ _he’s being kind to this Vitya or whoever he thinks I am_.’

After all, how could this lovely man know him?

He didn’t even have a name.

He nearly jumped out of his own skin at the sudden rapping at the door followed by Makkachin’s low growling. His heart was in his throat as he did the first thing he could think of, taking shelter in the wardrobe and cowering as he listened intently as the front door opened.

“Hello,” he heard the man’s sweet voice drift from far away, “is there something wrong?”

“Mr. Katsuki, there’s…”

“Katsuki-Nikiforov,” he interrupted.

“My apologies. Mr. Katsuki-Nikiforov, there’s been sightings of a monster around this part of the village.”

The man - Katsuki-Nikiforov - was on the defensive now. “A monster you say? Like a creature from a child’s tale?” he asked incredulously, “surely someone was mistaken.”

“I’m afraid not, Mr. Katsuki… Nikiforov. The DeLacey’s were the first to discover the wretched creature and we’ve seen glimpses of him as we chased him from the village. He went through the forest but we’ve seemed to have lost track of him in the storm. We came just to make sure that you’re safe from harm’s way. As your hosts, I think I can speak on behalf of our town that the blood would be on our hands should anything befall you. Don’t you fret though, Mr. Katsuki, we will find the monster that dared to terrorize our village and put an end to him… once and for all.”

He could almost hear a pin drop at the silence that followed.

“It’s Mr. Katsuki- _Nikiforov_ ,” he finally drawled at length, “and I don’t entertain such fairytales. There are no such things as monsters nor do any monsters reside here, and I’m afraid you have disturbed my evening.”

“If you would just let me have a look around, it would give me some peace of mind…” the stranger said, causing him to tense. Would they force their way in? Would they find him and drag him away to his death? Or would they burn him and then Mr. Katsuki-Nikiforov for helping him? He was stricken with fear at the thought of them harming the only man who showed him compassion.

No. He would never let that happen.

“Thank you for your concern,” Katsuki-Nikiforov stated tersely, “but I would have been aware of any odd findings in or around the property. Makka may be an old girl, but she would alert me if anything were amiss. Now if you excuse me, I will be turning in for the night. I suggest you do the same before the weather gets worse. You might just catch your death.”

Without waiting for a reply, his savior closed the door and the sound of the lock echoed with a sense of finality. He heard Makka give a low whine as quick footsteps padded across the wooden floors of the cottage. The man opened the bedroom door but he didn’t dare move from his hiding spot, still shaken by the close encounter.

“Victor?” he called out, a hint of fear creeping into his voice as he searched the room. At long last, he opened the wardrobe and sighed in relief. He fell to his knees then, clutching onto him in desperation. As if he were the savior instead. “It’s okay. They’re gone now. I won’t let them take you away. You’re safe,” he murmured rapid-fire under his breath, whether it was for him or himself he didn’t know, but he was comforted by it all the same.

Gathering his wits, Katsuki-Nikiforov righted himself and offered him a hand. Eager to touch him again as if to reaffirm his presence, he reached out to meet him. He then was guided to the bathroom where the man drew a warm bath, humming a strangely familiar tune under his breath in an attempt to assuage his nerves. He could tell the man was still on edge from the tension in his shoulders to the tremor in his hands. It seemed as if the man at their door scared him more than he himself did. He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at the irony.

“I was afraid it wouldn’t be warm enough with this storm threatening to freeze everything over, but it seems like the boiler in the cellar is still working. I would have just boiled some water otherwise but this definitely saves me the trouble. I put some leftover soup on the fire so you can have something warm to eat once you’re done bathing too. I’m afraid I haven’t had much of an appetite as of late so please feel free to have as much as you like, Vitya,” the man rambled as he looked everywhere else but him.

He drew an unsteady breath, debating if he wanted to end this dream now or later. To save himself the pain, he chose the former. He could only hope the man took pity on him. “Who is Vitya?”

The man blinked up at him from the edge of the tub. “You,” he said simply. Tearfully. “I suspected that you didn’t recognize me but I hadn’t realized you didn’t recognize yourself either. I can’t imagine how lost you must have felt.”

_I am not Vitya..._

_...But he sees my loneliness…_

“I’m truly sorry, but I can’t possibly be the man you think I am.”

“No,” he said with a sad shake of his head, “I know Victor from his eyes down to his fingertips. You couldn’t be anyone else but him.”

He wanted to protest, but Katsuki-Nikiforov pulled a locket from around his neck. A golden ring dangled from the chain, glinting in the light - a ring that matched the one on his own finger. Gingerly, the man popped open the locket to reveal a picture of a man. A man so beautiful that he wondered how Katsuki-Nikiforov saw any sort of resemblance between them... but the more he stared, the more he began to notice the similarities. The slope of his nose, the shape of his eyes, the sharpness of his jaw. He couldn’t deny the uncanny resemblance. Yet, this man was smiling - a notion so uncommon in photographs he had seen before - as if holding back laughter and his eyes gleamed with love. He found himself envying him. He could hardly believe they were the same person.

“Who was he… who was _I_ to you?” he dared to ask, unable to look away from the photo that burned against his eyes and seared into his memory.

He sighed. “Victor Katsuki-Nikiforov. My husband. My life and love,” he said reverently, as if caught in a memory. He took his hand then and pinned him with a burning stare. “I wasn’t able to protect you once, but I swear this on my life, I will never, ever let anyone harm you again.”

Deep in his heart, he believed him.

He swallowed at that, overwhelmed with the influx of new emotions. “What… happened?”

At that, his smile died and he closed the locket. “You died. It was an accident. You insisted on staying late to speak to Lilia about next season’s choreography at the Boloshi. You were hit by a horse-drawn carriage. A carriage with a team of six horses,” his voice wavered as he choked back a sob, his grip on the locket turning his knuckles white, “they didn’t let me see you. We couldn’t even have an open casket funeral. Victor, you can’t imagine how much I mourned for you, how I continued to until this day. I should have been there. I shouldn’t have just went on ahead. I should have… I-I should have…”

In that moment, he pitied Katsuki-Nikiforov more than he pitied even himself. Gently, he placed a hand over his, breaking the raven-haired man out of his spiraling thoughts.

“We can never predict such things. It could never be your fault what happened to him… what happened to me. I would never want you to think that ever, but even if we share the same face, I’m afraid I am not the man you once loved. I don’t remember anything. I don’t even remember you let alone myself. How can I ever be someone worthy enough to be at your side? I mean… look at me.” He laughed deprecatingly. How could he be worthy of anyone, let alone this beautiful man before him? No, he could never measure up to the man that was Victor Katsuki-Nikiforov.

“I know,” he said softly, lacing his fingers through his own, “and I see _you_. Perhaps you’re right. In a way, I’ll never get my Vitya back. It breaks my heart, but that is something I had come to terms with a long time ago. You don’t have to be my husband. You don’t even have to be Victor Katsuki-Nikiforov. Just be you and that will be enough. I promise, no matter what happens, even if we both have to flee for the rest of our lives, I will always protect you. Please,” he said pleadingly, “let me do this for you.”

He sniffed as tears filled his eyes. Not trusting his voice, he quickly nodded his assent and the man scooped him into a warm embrace. This time, he returned it with just as much vigor and desperation. Eventually, the man pulled away so he could properly dress his still throbbing wound. While he was thankful, he already missed his warmth. Silently, he watched as he sanitized and dressed the angry, weeping gouges with such tender care. He found himself sad and frustrated then, wanting to be the true object of this man’s affection but knowing that he could never replace Victor Katsuki-Nikiforov in his heart.

“Let’s get you in the tub now,” he said with a light laugh as he finished up, “you must be freezing.”

The man was courteous enough to turn away as he disrobed and tentatively lowered himself into the tub. He took care to avoid getting the dressing wet after everything his host had done for him. At the sound of splashing, Katsuki-Nikiforov peaked shyly over his shoulder. Red was a good color on him, he couldn’t help but muse.

“I-if you need anything, I won’t be too far, just in the bedroom. Shout for me, I’ll be here to help you.”

Before he could think twice, he lunged over the tub to grab his hand. “Please,” he found himself begging, meeting the man’s doe-eyes, “stay close to me.”

Blinking away his initial shock, the man smiled back at him, but no longer in that sad way. “Always.”

He settled beside the tub, his hand still in his. For some reason, he wasn’t quite ready to let go. Perhaps he was still nervous from the previous life-threatening events. Perhaps they both were.

“What shall I call you then?” the man asked softly at length, “Vitya doesn’t sound quite fitting.”

“Victor,” he blurted before he could think any better of it, “V-Victor is just fine.”

“Okay,” he agreed readily, not once questioning his decision, “just Victor then.”

“And… what shall I call you?”

He smiled so warmly, so brilliantly then. “Call me Yuuri.”

Victor knew he would never be Yuuri’s Vitya, but as he squeezed the man’s hand like a lifeline tethering him to his sanity, he desperately wished he could be.


End file.
